


A stolen moment

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Omnics, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Zendatta* Mondatta finds himself cornered by a very determined Zenyatta...





	A stolen moment

**Author's Note:**

> i will get myself back into writing even if i have to fight tooth and nail

**A stolen moment**

 

The wall behind his back is hard and cold and Mondatta’s fingers dig into it, scraping against the stones for purchase while his other hand hovers in the air, unsure.

“Zenyatta, I do not think–”

A finger caresses down the curve of his synth, interrupting him, as Zenyatta presses himself against Mondatta’s chest. This close, he can hear the fans in Zenyatta’s frame spin just a little louder than normal, even as his voice remains carefully even.

“That sounds ideal,” Zenyatta replies, forehead array flashing into a smile, “in a situation such as this, I would rather prefer you to be left incapable of thinking.”

One hand travels down his clothed front, caressing the soft fabric of his kasaya before pushing the hems aside to move past them.

Mondatta is startled by the bold, sudden gesture as Zenyatta’s hand moves lower, palm flat open, to rub against the pistons at his hips and then slips between his legs to press against the curve of his modesty panel, and at the same time, Zenyatta pushes him harder against the wall, aligning their frames together.

It is surprising, but not unexpected –Mondatta knows Zenyatta can be demanding, and yet, it has always been in the privacy of their private quarters, never…

The hand that caresses a path up his arm, reaching for the exposed circuits on his chest, makes Mondatta jump again, the touch welcome and pleasant as fingers caress the length of the pistons of his neck.

He has missed this.

He has missed Zenyatta’s body against his own, he has missed this closeness, and it has been a while since they last indulged, since his duties have allowed them some time together, and…

Mondatta’s hand, frozen in mid-air, can’t decide whether to move to tug Zenyatta closer or to push him away, gently, so that they can relocate somewhere more… private than a corridor of the monastery, where anyone could happen to see them…

Yet he is undecided, and Zenyatta’s face plate, so close to his own, burns with a smug flash of his forehead array.

“Mondatta,” he murmurs, and the way his voice tilts, open with raw need, makes Mondatta falter, sends a shock of _want_ down his circuits.

He remembers other times when Zenyatta has called out his name like this, demanding and breathless with need, and he shudders, his own forehead array flickering.

Then, Zenyatta’s fingers find the sensor tucked under the base of his neck, just out of sight unless one knows where to look, and Mondatta’s synth vibrates and crackles in a soft, startled moan.

A thumb circles and presses down on that sensor again, slowly, sending little shocks of energy down Mondatta’s neck, and he slumps forwards and into Zenyatta’s arms.

He can feel Zenyatta nuzzle into the crook of his neck, sending a spark of omnic energy to dance against his metal, and the sensation, coupled with Zenyatta’s hands still caressing his sensors, makes Mondatta shudder against the wall.

There is nowhere to go, but he does not truly wish to be anywhere else but there.

“Zenyatta, please–” _‘be reasonable’_ , he means to say, but the words break into another moan, and with Zenyatta so close, kissing him, hands running to seek every sensor on Mondatta’s body, one tucked in his inner thigh, then another one where his spine nodes meet his shoulder blades, Mondatta…

He can’t really think why he wants to stop.

When Zenyatta tilts his head up to stare at him, Mondatta’s hand cup his chin and tugs him closer, meeting omnic energy with his own spark, kissing Zenyatta back even as Zenyatta presses harder into him, body a furnace, fans spinning in the silence, hands tugging Mondatta’s clothes a little sideways just so he can reach lower, fingers fumbling with the latch of his modesty panel, and…

Mondatta lets him, groaning deep in his synth when his modesty panel slides away. They are still fully clothed, but they are in the middle of an empty corridor, and he is aware of how wet his valve is, and even then Zenyatta avoids it, deft fingers wrapping around the base of his prosthetic cock instead, tugging it in quick, sharp pulls, and Mondatta muffles another, louder moan, grinding his hips into Zenyatta’s touch.

“I–”

“I’ve watched you, during your last sermon,” Zenyatta’s voice interrupts him, urgent and low against one of his auricular receptors, throaty in a way that betrays how affected Zenyatta himself is, “I wished to reach for you then, in front of all those who were there to see you, for you looked…” his hand rubs against every ridge of Mondatta’s cock, sensors burning with pleasure “… so regal, and _delectable_. I wished to fall on my knees then, and–”

“Zenyatta,” Mondatta fumbles with himself, lost in Zenyatta’s desire, and parts his legs further so Zenyatta can slide his hand lower, two fingers tracing down the curves of his valve, already plump and leaking into his underclothes, even as Zenyatta refuses to do much more than tease. “When did you become… so devious?”

“When one is allowed too much free time, their mind might start to wander, Mondatta… _master_ …” again, Zenyatta’s tone cracks with need, and Mondatta arches his neck when Zenyatta’s other hand digs into the wires on his lower back and _tugs_ on them, sending sharp, intense pleasure through his body.

He can feel, under the layers of desire, under his own pleasure and want, the bitter tinge of longing, the truth of Zenyatta’s desire to be with him, more than just like this, and his core aches even as Zenyatta continues to run his hand over his cock, coaxing more and more moans out of him.

“I will…” Mondatta’s mind is unfocused now, body online and receptive to the pleasure and to what Zenyatta is doing, tries to coax him to do more than just this teasing touch by angling his hips and parting his legs further, using the hand he has against the wall to keep himself standing, but words are hard to come, and he has to pause, biting down on a moan, to focus on what he wants to say. “I will make time. For… for you, my light.”

Zenyatta’s hand tightens around his cock, slick with lubrication, and slides the thumb to the tip, rubbing against the sensor there, and Mondatta seizes into him.

“Will you, Mondatta? Master? For me?”

“Yes–”

The hand digging into his wires rubs into a sensor, and Mondatta’s mind scrambles into shattered pieces, thoughts running everywhere as he wraps one hand around Zenyatta’s neck to keep him closer.

He moves into the teasing touches as Zenyatta rubs his body into him, coaxes him into giving in, and Mondatta can feel, even through layers of clothes, that Zenyatta’s own modesty panel is off–

He can feel the curve of his prosthetic press against his front, as urgent as Zenyatta’s movements are, and wants to feel more –to feel Zenyatta’s aching valve for him, wants to touch as well, wants Zenyatta to move his kasaya away so they can be unimpeded by fabric, wants more than just this friction, he wants… _needs_ …

“Ah…”

He’s close, brought near the edge just by Zenyatta’s body, by his hands, so easily, and it would take nothing, and he wants that, he wants–

“Zenyatta…” he tilts his head down, presses their foreheads together, shudders, and Zenyatta’s hand, traitorous as it is, slides away from his cock to give another, teasing caress down the edges of his valve. “Please…”

“Well, then… master…” Zenyatta moans into his auricular receptor, shivering in a way that makes Mondatta _ache_ with desire, “I will be waiting.”

And then, Zenyatta moves away.

Mondatta feels the sudden cold of the air in the corridor against his overheated chassis now that Zenyatta’s hot frame isn’t pressed against him, but for a moment he’s unable to think or even move, cock and valve aching, sensors and circuits buzzing with energy and anticipation, slumped against the wall.

His optical receptors whir to focus and blink, only to see Zenyatta take another step back, looking as composed and calm as ever.

“Zen–”

With a slow motion, Zenyatta brings his hand up, still wet with Mondatta’s slick, and presses it against the seam of his mouth piece. Mondatta’s optical receptors focus there, on that motion, notice the translucent sheen that is left there, barely noticeable against the golden metal, and shudders, almost comes just by that, cock aching for a touch that he’s been denied.

“I would not wish to deny the new monks a chance to meditate with you, master,” Zenyatta murmurs, voice so low it’s almost a purr. “But maybe afterwards, you could… visit me. Maybe then we will have enough time… to continue.”

When he turns to leave, smoothing down the creases of his kasaya, Mondatta can’t help but watch him go, desire still making his insides burn, the inside of his clothes wet with his own slick.

Then, with trembling hands, he stands back up, legs shaking.

He will find meditating a difficult task, now.


End file.
